


My Obsession

by mspaintporn



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Art, Bisexual Dan Howell, Commitment, Dan Howell/Phil Lester Comfort, Dirty Thoughts, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Gothic, M/M, Mental Instability, Modeling, Photography, Sad Dan Howell, Smoking, Smut, Trauma, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mspaintporn/pseuds/mspaintporn
Summary: Dan is a struggling art student with commitment issues and a lot of unresolved problems.Phil is an established photographer who wants to know Dan for who he is.Neither can truly see each other for what they really are, horrible people.
Relationships: Chris Kendall/PJ Liguori, Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Kudos: 5





	1. Tripped and fell in Soho

Dan doesn’t think about his degree as much as he should. Most of his time is spent smoking outside the block of flats. Right now it’s February, and it’s bitter. Wind rips at his soft cheeks and his trembling chin. Still, he clutches the cigarette between skinny fingers. 

He would go inside but this is a great spot to people-watch. He’s just across from the coffee shop he pops into every now and then, he observes each passerby through the glass cage that separates them. Dissecting them, fantasising about them, not even boring shit like what lives they have. He can’t help but think about what it would be like to fuck them, it doesn’t matter who, if they look good or not, if they’re a man or a woman. He wants to try everyone. 

A familiar warmth spreads across his fingernail, his cigarette burning out. He chucks it on the ground before stomping it out and heading back into his flat. It’s mandatory to check yourself in the mirror when you get back inside, Dan feels. He swears sometimes he’s changed into an entirely different person since he started living here. The once spritely and sensitive soul compacted into something callous and perverted, Dan can feel the weight of his conscience with every lungful he takes. Perpetually, this impending potential lingers in the flat, waiting for something sobering to happen that changes everything. 

It’s like breathing in rust. 

His eyes are sunken, the only way he can tell he’s still him is the brilliant sienna that hides behind his eyelashes. He unzips his fleece, rolling his shoulders back with a satisfying crunch. The scent of Heinz wafts through the apartment. 

“Chris? Are you cooking or am I having a stroke?” Kicking off his battered vans, he walks over to find Chris tucked in the corner of the kitchen tending to a pot on the stove. 

“Stroke. Do you want any beans?”

“Fucking ‘ell mate, you need some minerals.” 

“You’re one to talk, think there’s any minerals in fags?” Chris cranes his neck to watch Dan deconstruct on the couch, his loose limbs hanging like vines off the edge of the woodwork. As the cushion compresses it releases this woody smell. It was nice the first time Dan had smelled it but now it just stings. 

“You didn’t tell me PJ was coming over.” 

“I didn't, how did you know?” The spoon clatters against the pan, ringing through the room. 

“You’re wearing Versace again, you only wear it when he’s coming over.” Dan sniffles, rubbing his sensitive nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. Turning off the hob, Chris smacks the pan down on the kitchen surface. 

“Sorry perfume police, it’s cheap okay? He said it’s vintage-“

“You smell like an Italian grandad.” He jeers, Chris has only been wearing it for about a month but it’s immediately become an indicator of Chris’s desperation. 

“Some people like that, okay?”

“It’s not gonna make him want you more.” Chris plonks himself down on the sofa next to Dan, eating the beans out of the pan he cooked them in. 

“Don’t you have anything to do? Find a motive tonight or something. I need the flat, and I can’t have you-“ he shovels beans into his face, continuing to talk through his mouthful, “dicking up the place.” 

“Seems like I’m the only one actually dicking.” They exchange a look, both suppressing a cackle. Dan knows if he cracks then Chris will follow, and they’ll both be wearing tomato sauce. 

“Get laid, Dan.”

-

As soon as he gets nervous he starts smoking, which is a pretty useless defence mechanism. That’s why he’s propped outside this bar chuffing them down like there’s no tomorrow. He doesn’t even know if he wants to go inside, it’s too loud and sparkly in there compared to the delicate fog that accompanies the muffled sound of people. 

Every now and again he gets this tingly feeling in the middle of his brain, like a rot that controls him. He’s convinced that maybe he ate a weird mushroom or something and there’s a fungus growing in his cerebrum. Filled with false confidence, he feels himself drop his smoke and head inside. His numb body pushes past the crowds, trying to find the actual bar inside this place. Although the inertia is fading, he’s still nervous. He’s just doing this because Chris told him to, he thinks. But his ass is firmly planted in one of the stools, elbows collapsed over the counter. It feels oddly smooth against his dry hands. 

“Can I get you something?” He thinks the bartender is talking to him so he looks up, but he’s not there. Instead there’s a polished looking man to his right. He has eyes like sea glass, they’re magnetic. 

“Like what?” Dan scoffs at the newfound attention, fixated on his glance. It’s so much harder to pervert reality when it’s right in front of you.

“Like a drink, you are old enough for a drink yeah?” The man reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out his credit card. Dan’s glued to his every move. 

“Don’t flatter me. I’ll have a Malibu and lemonade,” time to catastrophize, “you’re not gonna roofie me or anything, right?” 

“No but I might kill you if you keep asking stupid questions.” This is followed with a brief silence, the man’s lips twisting into a grimace, “sorry, bad joke.” Dan laughs at this. The bartender swings over to them. 

“Heya Phil, what’s he up for?”

“Let’s get two Malibu and lemonades, single shot. Nothing too crazy.” He immediately gets to work, preparing the drinks, “you look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“It’s my posture, isn’t it?” He instinctively bends back to crack his back over the edge of the stool. 

It’s not tall enough. He catches his balance again by tugging on the countertop with his fingers. 

“It’s your everything, actually. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Well not really, now I just feel ugly.” Dan wilts back into place, the man placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Do you think I’d be talking to you if you were ugly?” The barman sets the drinks down in front of them and Phil raises his glass. Dan does the same and they toast. 

“To be honest I feel incredibly average.” He throws the drink back, the cocktail sliding down his burnt throat with ease. He puts the half empty glass back down in its place and Phil does the same. 

“Okay incredibly average, what’s your name?”

“Daniel- it’s Dan. Just call me Dan. I don’t know why I didn’t just say that.”

“Okay just Dan, what do you do?” 

“I… I’m a painter. I’m doing an art major,” Dan swivels his glass sighting, watching the ice dance around inside the clear beverage. 

“What do you like to paint?” Phil rests an elbow on the bar, leaning playfully on his wrist. 

“Faces, emotions I suppose, I think eyes are really interesting,” Dan mumbles into the rim of his glass, taking another gulp of his drink and looking up at Phil. He’s ever so slightly taller than him, but he can’t tell if it’s just the height of the stool, so he looks down curiously. Realising his mistake he looks back up. His face burns, it really looked like he was looking at his crotch. 

“Who are your inspirations?” Internally he groans at this question. He’s written millions of annotations about his influences and psychoanalysed every aspect of his work and what it derives from. 

“Francis Bacon, that kinda stuff,” he doesn’t expect Phil to want to talk about this any further. The older man scrunches up his brow in concern. 

“What do you like about it?” This guy asks a lot of questions. 

“He had this way of portraying religion with such raw violence, he was an atheist trying to show the Bible as a horror story,” Dan is already bored of this conversation, “what do you do… Phil.” 

“I’m a photographer ,” He props up thick framed glasses with the side of his hand, “it’s kinda grating to talk about though. You’re more interesting.” Phil smiles this toothy smile, his tongue slides to one side from the gap. 

Dan’s still not quite sold although there’s something hypnotic about the way Phil’s pale skin shines, his collar bones jut out as he moves closer to Dan. They’re maybe a finger length apart now and his smell is already rubbing off on him and thank god it’s not Versace. It’s giving him a head rush, his heartstrings twitch. 

“I don’t usually do this,” he whispers against the man’s lips as he draws near. The truth is he’s fucked Phil thousands of times in his mind already and in every way possible. Sometimes it’s safer to keep everyone you lust after an arm’s length away. He’s ashamed no one thinks about sex half as much as he does, “are you sure you-“ 

“Do you wanna get out of here? I won’t be offended if you say no.” 

“Promise you won’t kill me?” 

Two two of them wander through the dingy alleyways on their side of London. 

“Did you know Soho got its name from hunters that used to come here before it was urbanised? They used to yell Soho when they’d see a hare.” Phil’s commitment to the area is endearing to say the least. 

“People used to hunt here?”

“Yeah it used to be mainly fields before the great fires, I can’t imagine seeing a bunny around here,” They stop at the side of a tall brick building, it’s sort of anonymous and is a step out of the way of the bustling street corner they were just on. Phil fumbles in his pocket for his keys, stopping at an unmarked door. He slots a comically large key in its slot and turns it. Begrudgingly it opens, the lock crunching at its hinges. The porch reeks of damp and automatically lights up as soon as Phil sets a foot inside. 

“Don’t look so scared,” he extends a hand towards Dan and he follows. Phil leads him up a flight of step stairs, Dan bracing himself on the popcorn walls as he turns the corners. The stairs lead them to a much better presented door, painted a warm burgundy colour to match the worn carpet below. Phil unlocks this with a much smaller key, and it swings open to reveal a tiny flat. The floors sparkle in the overhead lights, they’re so obnoxiously clean like polished obsidian. The walls are white with a few abstract statement paintings and geometric hanging shelves. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Phil slides off his brogues and hangs his coat up, Dan skulking behind him and shuffling out of his ratty shoes. 

“What do you have?” He pulls his hoodie over his head, bringing his shirt with him for a second or two. This reveals his tanned stomach and Phil stares for the time that Dan’s view is obstructed. Hurriedly he busies himself by looking through his liquor cabinet. 

“I have… Rum uh, lots of different types, bourbon, blue curaçao, gin-“

“Do you usually go for younger boys?” Dan sits casually on the sofa, his tiny white shirt riding up on his hip bones, “oh and gin is good.” Phil turns around looking unimpressed. 

“You’re, what, twenty?”

“Nineteen.”

“And I’m twenty three. You’re hardly younger in my opinion.”

“You look like you’re older,” Dan reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cigarette, “do you mind if I smoke?”

“That depends, did you mean that as a compliment?” Dan lights in anyway, holding eye contact as he takes the first drag. 

“Very much so, yes,” it feels like all Phil had to do was get him in a quiet place and he could finally be himself, he doesn’t feel like him when he’s bundled into a sweaty club, “I don’t know if I do feel like drinking.” He lets the nicotine flood his brain, tipping his head back against the spine of the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

The flat is nice, sure. But there’s this extremely sterile quality to it, it’s covered from wall to wall with this stupidly shiny white tile. There’s no carpet or curtains for the smoke to stick to. In fact the whole place looks like a bathroom and has this clinical smell that lingers in the air. Dan can imagine Phil climbing up on a ladder to scrub every inch of it when he sees even a speck of grime. The same goes for the floor, black sparkly tiles. He feels almost conscious of walking around this place wearing socks, fearing he might slip. However if he takes his socks off now Phil might think he’s some sort of foot fetish guy. 

“What do you feel like?” Phil sits next to Dan, who up to this point has been annoying him but he’s gorgeous. His floppy brown hair fans backwards over his face as he lies there smoking. Phil pushes the hair out of his eyes, leaning over him as Dan exhales smoke. Phil steals the cigarette from his mouth, Dan immediately sitting up with eyes wide open. 

“Hey,” Phil slides to the opposite end of the couch deviously, Dan crawling halfheartedly after him. It doesn’t take long before he’s on top of him, pushing his shoulder down with one arm and reaching for his cigarette with the other. Phil’s wingspan is impressive and it’s burning out quickly, “give it back! What are you, twelve?”

“Oh really? I thought I was an old man to you,” Phil flips the younger boy on his back, now on top of him as he places the cigarette back in Dan’s mouth.

He doesn’t even smoke it but he just stays unspeaking, this moonstruck expression spreading through him. He’s a mess of toffee coloured curls and he seems to be out of breath from just a short wrestle, “I think you want to fuck me.”

“What?”

“I've been thinking it and you’ve been thinking it, so fuck me if you want.” Dan smiles from beneath the dying cigarette, taking a final drag and stubbing it out by pinching it with his already burnt fingers. He lets the end roll onto the coffee table in front of them. 

“Are you sure? Just like this?” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Dan snakes an arm around the back of Phil’s neck, pulling him into a firm kiss. His hand tangles through his short hair, his knee lifting between Phil’s legs, “don’t overthink it.” He murmurs against his lips, Phil gasping at the foreign contact. In return he slides a graceful hand under Dan’s shirt, grabbing at his chest. Their lips begin to move together in unison, Dan cocking his head to the right to give him better access. 

Phil releases, enjoying this too much to care about what’s rational. Ash coats his taste buds, subduing the sugary flavour left in his mouth from the cocktail earlier, “I’m not your first, right?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course not I’ve been with loads of people,” Dan breaks away for a moment, his lower lip glossed with spit. 

“You’re fine though, yeah?” Phil’s breath hitches as Dan kisses down his neck, leaving dimpled teeth marks as he trails down to his collar. 

“Stop asking questions,” Dan unbuttons the top few on Phil‘s shirt, opening up more of his pearlescent body, “what do you like?”

“You’re so blunt,” he struggles to think as Dan continues with unbuttoning, “being in control. Uh- begging. I like begging.” 

“You want me to beg?” There’s skepticism in Dan’s voice, “it’s not at all what I expected from you-“

“Well what did you expect from me?”

“You seem like a passionate love making kind of guy, y’know rose petals, wine, music, all that shit.” 

“How am I supposed to hear you properly if there’s music?”

“Some people like music Phil,” Dan smirks. 

“I don’t want music. I want to hear your every noise, I want to know exactly how I’m making you feel.” Phil’s jolliness seems to have left him, instead he studies Dan with a steely look in his eyes. So naturally Dan unzips his jeans before Phil grabs his wrist, “I didn’t say you could do that. Don’t undress. I want to take a picture of you. Stay here.” He jumps up, leaving Dan sprawled on the cushions for about ten seconds. He returns with a bulky Polaroid camera. 

“Don’t move, just look here.” Dan looks up at the lens, flinching at the flash, “perfect.” The photo dispenses, Phil putting it on the coffee table next to the cigarette end. 

“Do you do this with all your boys?” 

“Oh come off it,” Phil smiles to himself as he watches it develop, “you’re beautiful, not everyone looks like you. You know that really, don’t you? So I won’t be having any more cheek from you.” He sits next to Dan, towering over him once more, “I’d love to take more pictures of you, if you’d let me.” Dan blushes, nodding silently, “good boy. Do you feel like sucking my cock now?” Phil slides his belt out of its buckle, unzipping his slacks. 

Dan does what he’s told, moving to kneel on the floor between Phil’s legs as he pulls his waistline and boxers down. His dick springs into action, bobbing against Dan’s face. He licks a stripe up from the base to the tip, watching Phil’s face the entire time. He grabs the root, swirling his tongue around the tip like a lollipop and placing his lips around it, “that’s it, you’re a pro.” Phil rests his back against the couch with the air of a satisfied king after a large meal. He grabs Dan’s fringe, raking his fingers back through his thick hair and pushing his head down so he descends onto his length. 

Dan can feel the sides of his mouth stretch around his girth, hollowing the insides of his cheeks for a better grip. Phil lets out a long shaky moan, studying the boy sucking him off. Although he tries to come off older than he really is, Phil can sense this vulnerability to Dan, as if to say he isn’t as experienced as he wants people to think. There’s breaks in his confidence, moments where he shifts from being effortlessly cool to fumbling over his own sentences, “let me see those eyes.” 

Dan obliges, glistening like honey in the afternoon son as his flushed face bobs up and down on Phil’s cock. 

“Christ,” Phil reaches an arm up to grab the sofa behind him, his fist gripping the thin layer of fabric that covers the frame. His hips buck upwards, Dan’s hands caressing Phil’s lean thighs. He wasn’t expecting Phil to be in such good shape for some reason, do photographers move around a lot? Nonetheless he wasn’t exactly ripped but his flesh fit snugly against his bones. Dan pushes his entire head onto the cock and whilst at the base he laps at Phil’s balls with his tongue, revelling in his shivering. His body tumbles and his lungs give out, making this breathless croak of a moan. 

Soon after warmth fills Dan’s palette, Phil heaving and sweaty under his half open shirt. Dan winces, swallowing it even though he hates the taste. 

“D-Dan, come up!” The voice leaves Phil’s mouth desperately and Dan obeys, pulling off and sitting down where he knelt, “where on earth did you learn something like that? That was filthy.” 

“Did you like it?” Dan’s beams proudly, his chin resting on Phil’s knee and he looks up at him.

“Yes I did, but I didn’t expect you to do that,” he sighs shakily, bringing the back of his hand up to his mouth, “did someone teach you that?”

“No I saw it in porn, if you liked it what’s the big deal? Everyone likes it when I do that.” Dan sticks his bottom lip out, Phil playing with his hair because he’s just that cute. 

“I don’t want you having unrealistic expectations, that’s not how real people have sex, I doubt that was very comfortable for you,” Phil gestures for Dan to stand, “don’t feel like you need to do anything special to impress me right now, okay? Just get a feel for what’s going on.” Dan stands, Phil pulling his already unzipped jeans down. Dan goes to pull his shirt off, Phil placing a gentle hand on his arm, “keep it on. It looks pretty on you.” He continues with shaking the jeans off his ankles as Phil tugs at his Calvin Klein’s. 

He’s watching Phil pull his clothes off so calmly, like it’s second nature to him. He doesn’t like it, something about it is wrong. 

“Wait Phil.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think… I’m not sure I want to be touched right now. Sorry.” shame spreads throughout Dan’s body, Phil cracking another one of his priceless smiles. 

“Don’t apologise, it’s okay,” says Phil. 

“Even though it was my idea? You must think I’m a tease,” Dan droops, the older man’s face pressing against his stomach and landing a small kiss. 

“I can tell you’re scared, we can talk about it if you want,” Dan brushes past this, pulling his jeans up and zipping them. 

“You don’t need to therapize me, it’s not your job,” Dan readjusts his shirt and the skinny silver chain around his neck, “I think- I might just go Phil. If that’s okay?”

Phil is taken aback. “It’s okay, but I’d like to see you again, if you’d like. E-Even if it’s just to take pictures of you.” Dan puts his hoodie back on, shrinking into it like a snail. 

“Yeah, I’m sure we can work something out,” Dan walks to the front of the flat, finding his shoes and crouching to put them on. 

“D’you want me to call a cab?” That’s the last thing Dan wants, to be enclosed in a small dark space with a random man. 

“I have a friend who could pick me up,” Dan half lies, Phil standing before the front door in his boxers. He slips a small card into Dan’s hoodie pocket, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Well you know where I am now, call me if you want,” Phil‘s cool demeanour doesn’t falter for a minute and Dan is so inadequate compared to this already established adult. He nods. 

“Thank you for the date.” He looks up through sooty eyelashes.

“Thank you for the photo,” Phil smiles sweetly, Dan slithering out through the door without a goodbye. 

All the tension in his skull crushes his thoughts, he doesn’t even feel his feet as he tumbles down the rickety stairs and out through the giant entrance. He feels for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out and calling Chris. 

It buzzes for a moment. 

“Dan! Where are you at? Are you okay?”

“I’m in Soho.”

“Soho? Are you linking with rich people?” Chris has this voice he puts on when he’s trying to impress someone, it’s probably just PJ. 

“Could you… I know you’re busy right now but do you think you could get me? I don’t feel safe here.” Chris sucks air through his teeth. 

“Oooh, yeah alright. What street are you on?” 

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver, I’m on Silver Place down the road from the Lush,” Dan starts walking to a better lit spot for his friend to find him. 

Phil sits half undressed on his sofa, staring emptily into space. What had he done to fuck it up this time? He picks the cigarette end, twirling it around between his finger and his thumb. He’s compelled to keep it for some reason, it’s a keepsake. The photo of Dan sits right next to it, Phil looking it over once more. 

He walks over to his TV cabinet, picking up a sharpie and writing the date and Dan’s name on the plain white strip. Phil knows he’s disgusting for thinking about this boy so much after only spending two hours or so with him, but the picture really did turn out lovely. He takes the cigarette and the photo to his room, opening his bedside draw and putting them in there for safe keeping. 

Chris’s beat up old car pulls up by Dan’s feet. He goes to open the passenger door but is stopped by seeing PJ’s face behind his reflection in the window. Fair do’s he guesses, he is crashing their evening. But it still irks him. The back door slides open and he shuffles to the middle seat, strapping himself in. 

The car reeks of Versace. 

“Hey tiger, how did it go?” Chris revs, driving off once more. 

“I went to a gay bar,” Dan puts on his funny anecdote voice, hoping no one can sense the fear leaking out of him. 

“Oh a gay bar? That’s new huh?” PJ chimes in, Dan’s skin crawling, “I went once but I couldn’t handle being hit on so much.” Sure he couldn’t. 

“Did you meet anyone?”

“Yeah I met this photographer, he wants me to model for him.”

“That’s kinda cool I guess, was he hot?”

“Yeah kind of, I went back to his.” PJ looks over his shoulder, bewildered. 

“You went to his place? What if something bad happened?”

“Well it didn’t, I’m clearly fine.” Dan snaps and folds his arms, PJ looking cross. 

“Did you do anything?”

“If you must know PJ I gave him a blowy.”

“Yes Dan! Get in there,” encourages Chris, “you’re finally getting some action!”

“He took a Polaroid of me too. He said I was beautiful.”

“Don’t make us too jealous, did you get his number?” Chris glides easily through the empty streets, it’s just the right time for everyone to either be asleep or inside a bar but it’s not too late for drunk people to be stumbling into the roads. 

“He gave me his card, I haven’t looked at it yet.”

“What if he’s some kind of freaky sex photographer?! Dan this is a bad idea-“

“What’s a bad idea? I met a hot guy and he gave me his number!”

“Lay off a little Peej,” Chris parks outside their building, Dan unplugging his seatbelt and leaving the tin can. He unlocks the front door, PJ and Chris following. 

“Let us see it then.” Chris teases, Dan finding his well loved dent in the settee and working his way back into comfort. His hand tightens around the card in his front pocket, PJ moping into the kitchen to put on the kettle like he lives here. Chris plops down next to Dan as he pulls out the card. 

“Phil Lester, contemporary photographer- see he’s not a pervert,” Chris raises an eyebrow triumphantly. 

“I dunno Chris, contemporary can mean a lot of things. It’s just a flashy word for modern, and I can’t think of anything more modern than sex.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, sex is literally the oldest thing to ever exist.” Dan sneers. 

“Well I’m proud of you Dan,” Chris rests his head on Dan’s shoulder and for a moment, everything feels okay.


	2. Sprawled on these cathedral steps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chance encounter at the library, PJ is especially rude on this day. 
> 
> Dan thinks Phil is leaving him subliminal messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly theme building

He stands between aisles, brushing the thick dust off of a book cover. It must’ve been there for years, the library employees neglecting to care for it under the piles of more popular and newly released books with glossy titles and good reputations. Grunting to himself he slumps down on the floor by the shelf, propping his back up on the study wood. 

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon and the library is nice and empty, which is to Dan’s liking. All he wants to do is collapse behind the shelves and become invisible to the public. His nose is buried in the book, so much so that he has to resist the urge to sneeze.

He feels especially sludgy on this day, the kind of misery where he keeps subconsciously wishing bad things would happen to him without even really meaning it. The air around him feels thick and void of nourishment, more so when he’s around people which isn’t helped by the fact that he hardly slept. He dozes off slightly, the bridge of his nose bumping the book every few seconds to wake him up. 

“Are you enjoying that?” A deep voice thumps softly in his ears, a pair of pinstriped suit trousers and black brogues appearing in the space between his droopy eyelids. He looks sleepily up over the pages, Phil standing there. 

“Oh, Phil. Hey,” Says Dan wearily. Phil crouches in front of him as if he’s talking to a small child. 

“What are you reading?” Dan knows full well he can see the cover of the book, but he wants to be polite. He’s already suppressing a sweat about having left Phil waiting by the phone.

“The True Grimoire, I’m trying to read it for a uni project,” this was half of the truth, Dan’s allowed to do his project on whatever he wants and right now he wants to read this book, he just didn’t realise it would be so boring. 

“I didn’t know you were into witchcraft, I could show you a thing or too if you want?”

“What, you’re a Pagan?” Phil just chuckles softly through his curtain of glossy black hair. He sits cross legged opposite Dan, opening his satchel and pulling out his camera. 

“Just read your book Dan.” Dan does as he’s told, turning a decrepit page slowly so as to not rip it. He’s painfully aware that he’s about to have his picture taken but he’s not tipsy or sexed up, just some scraggly teenager semiconscious in a library. It’s too overwhelming. All he wants is to feel pretty right now. 

The camera clicks, snapping the fragile silence between them. Phil lets out a satisfied sound, a small smile curling his lips. 

“I could hypothetically use this as a talisman.”

“Eh? How d’you mean?” Dan scrunches his nose in disbelief, Phil watching the picture develop.

“Well I could just do it, couldn’t I? You wouldn’t know how and you wouldn’t even feel it working,” Phil slips the picture into his wallet, “in fact I’m not even going to let you see it.”

“Oh take the piss-” Dan swipes at Phil’s arm, trying to snatch a look but he holds it a long arm’s length away and stands up, “that’s not funny Phil!” Phil shushes him loudly, mocking his exasperation. Dan springs to his feet, staring up at the man angrily with a furrowed brow. Phil ruffles his hair.

“Do you wanna get lunch? Library café does a mean bacon butty.” 

“Normally I would say yes but I’m meant to be meeting a friend-”

“Does he have a bowl haircut and very long legs?” 

“How-” Dan turns around, Chris standing behind him looking mildly offended. He clutches his shirt and pretends to be hurt. 

“Bowl haircut? Pinstripe thinks I have a bowl haircut?” Dan flashes Chris an angry look, tension building between the three of them, “Dan is this who I think it is?” Dan puts his face in his palm to hide his embarrassment and burning cheeks.

“I’m Phil,” he extends a hand, Chris shaking it smugly whilst looking at Dan. 

“This is Phil,” he whispers to Dan who is praying for the carpet to swallow him up, “charmed. I’m Chris. I’m sure you’ve heard lots about me. Dan, you ready for that toastie yet?” 

“I have to check out this book first-”

“Oh I can do that for you, you guys can go ahead.” Phil grins sweetly, Chris raising his eyebrows.

The three of them sit at a table in the library, Chris stuffing his face with some kind of baguette invention. Dan sits there too deep in thought to think about his panini. The book he needs for university is taken out under Phil’s name, which means he has collateral over him. He’s handsome and all but Dan doesn’t know how he feels about seeing him so frequently, he doesn’t want Phil to get the wrong idea.

“Phil-” Chris mumbles through mouthfuls of bread, “how’s photography?” A tiny piece of Dan’s brain fills with plaque every time Chris speaks.

“Photography is good, I do fashion mainly at the moment. Soho is great for that kind of stuff, what do you do?” Phil stirs his mocha with the wooden stick that came with it, the sugar swirling down into the bowel of the mug. 

“I’m doing theatre,” Chris folds his arms casually, nearly whacking Dan with his elbow in doing so, “as soon as I get my degree I’m gonna move onto writing plays.” Phil nods with interest, his hand sliding up Dan’s thigh under the table. Dan bites on the skin inside his mouth, showing his gaunt cheekbones. He chews on the straw of his iced coffee, the cold liquid flooding his mouth and distracting him from the totally platonic gesture. Chris’s phone vibrates against the glass table and he flips it open, reading a text, “PJ is in the Oxfam next door, he could join us right now.”

“What, is he living with us now?” Dan takes the first bites of his panini, the molten cheese already stiff around the edges. Phil senses his discomfort, moving his hand to Dan’s shoulder and shooting him a look that seems to say “are you okay?” Dan shakes it off nonchalantly, Phil frowning with concern.

“Don’t be like that, he’s your friend too,” Chris doesn’t look up from his phone, click-clacking away on his phone keypad, “plus he told me he likes hanging around with you.” 

“I’m really not sure if that’s the truth, if he comes here he’s just gonna be rude to Phil,” Both Chris and Dan look at Phil apologetically, “it’s really not personal.”

“Yeah, even I’ll admit he’s weird with people he doesn’t know. Took him forever to warm up to me,” Chris snaps his phone shut, the girly charm on the antena jumping from side to side. Dan whines in the pit of his throat even at the idea of PJ emerging from within the bookshelves. It feels like the more he visualises it the more likely it is to happen. He fiddles with the DIY thumb holes in his jumper, the wool fraying in intricate webs the more he defaces the garment, “Phil, why do you like Dan so much?”

“What makes you think I like him SO much?” Phil peers over the top of his mug, having waited the perfect amount of time for his drink to cool. He has it down to an exact science now. Chris is visibly taken aback by this, laughing nervously.

“Well you came here to find him, didn’t you?” 

“No, he never called.” Guilt pangs in Dan’s chest, Chris sitting up straight in his chair to show his investment. Just as he starts that thought, PJ actually does rear his head from the Italian literature section. Dan sinks further into the rickety rattan chair, PJ b-lining their way. Chris extends his arm to do their “secret handshake” that Dan has seen them do a total of one time. Chris is ignored, PJ instead sitting casually in the seat next to Dan and spreading his knees apart wide like a nineteenth factory worker smoking a cigar. 

“I’m PJ,” he starts as if they hadn’t been sitting there talking about him. Chris sulks, using his tongue to clean out bits of baguette from between his teeth.

“I know, I’m Phil.”

“I know.” PJ picks up the untouched half of Dan’s panini flippantly, taking a large bite out of it. Dan feels a storm brewing. Phil exhales in disbelief, a small smile forming on his face as Dan folds his arms like a spoilt child, “are you two on a little date.”

“PJ, Dan never called.” Chris is snappy now, he’s not sure that he wants PJ here either, “how come you’re here Phil?”

“We all live around Soho, so it’s what, one of 4 libraries? It’s a coincidence.” Dan answers for him, snatching the other half of his sandwich back and attempting to eat what’s left of it. Phil smiles because what he said is definitely true. PJ still isn’t sold on this but he lets it slide, “PJ why don’t you go get yourself a panini instead of stealing mine?” Dan spits venom with a mouthful of bread and cheese, PJ grumbling under his breath and pushing off the table. He walks over to the counter, ever so slightly out of earshot.

“I told you Chris, everytime I meet someone he does this.” He traces patterns in a pile of spilt sugar, Phil’s eyes glued to the way his long fingers move. Suddenly something rings loudly, ruining the calmness of the library. Phil rips his phone from his pocket, opening it and practically jumping out of his chair. 

“Shit, I have to go,” Phil hurriedly picks up his satchel, sliding Dan’s book out and handing it to him. It plops heavily on his thighs, thudding against his soft flesh, “I hope you like the book, give me a call sometime.” He smirks, ruffling Dan’s hair once more and exuding his ever present charm.

“Bye Phil-” he’s already gone, his long black coat trailing behind him like a ghost as he rushes past them. Chris stares flabbergasted, Dan looking back at him equally as confused.

“Well,” Chris half says, half breathes, “are you gonna call him?”

“I think I might have to, yeah Chris. He took that book out for me,” as he speaks, more and more blood rushes to his crotch where the book now sits. PJ carries a tray back over to the table, looking around like a meerkat.

“He’s gone? What gives?” 

“Beats us, he got a phone call and vanished.” PJ is seething. 

The three get back to the flat at around six in the evening. Chris and PJ, who seems to have moved in, sit in the living room working on a large portion of greasy chips they picked up on the way home. Dan says he isn’t hungry, all he wants to do is sit in his room and read his book. So that’s where he is, sat cross legged on his queen size bed with the hauntingly large book in front of him.

He picks it up to open the cover, it crepitates in response to being agitated and coughs up a load of debris. The dust glitters through the light of his lamp, sprinkling generously onto his jeans. With it a tightly folded piece of yellowed paper falls out. For some reason this makes Dan jump, his shaky hands going to unfold the neatly cut piece of paper. It slips, striking against the tough skin on his fingertip and before he even knows it he’s soaking the secret parcel with his blood. 

“Fuck!” He squeaks through his teeth, furiously wrapping the bottom of his jumper around his finger. There’s knocking on the door. 

“Are you okay?”

“Do we have any plasters?” Dan lets the words burst out of his mouth quickly through fear of sounding vulnerable. Footsteps resonate through the floorboards, leaving for a few seconds and then returning. The door clicks open and it’s PJ with a small first aid kit from Boots. Dan hisses inwardly. This must’ve come across because PJ scoffs and shakes his head. He sits beside Dan and the book, crossing his legs. 

“Hand,” PJ stretches his palm out, Dan reluctantly pulling his finger away from the jumper protecting it. PJ gently dabs at it with an alcohol wipe, Dan chews on his bottom lip to suppress the sting. 

“I can do it myself, y’know. I don’t need your help-”

“Please, you got cut open by a book,” PJ mocks the younger boy, picking up a plaster and peeling off the plastic backing. 

“Could you open something for me?” Dan hands the folded piece of paper to PJ after he’s done applying the plaster. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, that’s what caught my finger. It was inside the book,” the blood casts a brown tint on the outside of the paper, staining through the middle. PJ opens it, Dan peering over his shoulder. 

“Oh, this is you,” it’s the polaroid Phil took of Dan in his flat, it narrowly missed the splatter thankfully. Dan is almost embarrassed that PJ has seen it, “why is this here?”

“Phil took the book out for me when I bumped into him, he took a new one at the library so maybe he doesn’t want this one anymore,” PJ just stares at it thoughtfully. Dan looks so relaxed when he’s not talking, his face is flushed and half-lidded in his tipsy stupor and his long lashes web his starry eyes. His skin is an expanse of tanned alabaster with shaggy hair spilling all over his neck and shoulders. 

PJ gulps. 

“Was this before or after you sucked him off?” He nudges Dan with his elbow, Dan lying flat onto his back and sighing. 

“Before, you nosy twat, why?” Dan glares at PJ who doesn’t break from the picture. 

“I’ve just never seen you look like that, I didn’t realise you could model.”

“Yeah well, I can’t so that’s bollocks,” Dan pulls his phone out of his pocket, tapping away at the buttons, “I’m gonna call him.”

“Really? I’d be freaked out if someone did this to me, I mean he was just carrying that picture with him by chance? Do you believe that?”

“I dunno, I think it’s a bit hot, don’t you?” Dan sounds a bit like he’s convincing himself so PJ throws himself back next to Dan, watching him search through his contacts, “why do you care so much all of a sudden?” He struggles to click certain buttons with the piece of adhesive obscuring his dexterity, turning his head to the side and pressing his cheek into the covers so their eyes meet. 

“You always go for guys like him.” Dan finds this amusing, the skin around his eyes crinkling in disbelief. 

“You’ve seen me with like, three guys, it’s ridiculous for you to say I always do anything,” he pushes PJ’s shoulder mockingly, “go on then, what’s my type?”

“Older men that think you’re beautiful.” 

“Well who doesn’t want that? The only thing I’m good at is being pretty,” he goes to press the call button on his phone, Phil’s number having sat in his list for about a week. PJ grabs his wrist to stop him. 

“You think that’s true, do you?”

“You clearly have some kind of problem with Phil. If it’s serious I’d rather you told me what it is, or I’m gonna go to his house and have my pictures taken again.” They both lie still, unspeaking. There’s an untold sympathy in PJ’s stare, a bitter sting as he opens his mouth to talk but only the smell of stale beer comes out, “are you jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous, I’m not gay!” PJ pulls away from the skinny boy, flustered under the collar of his bright orange shirt. 

“You are so jealous of me,” Dan, after being interrupted multiple times, presses the call function and sets it to the speaker. The dial tones ring out, PJ starting to speak before Dan slams a hand over his mouth. He rolls on top of him, thighs wrapped around either hip. 

“Hello?” A baritone voice answers, PJ thrashing about. 

“Phil? It’s Dan, like… Dan,” he smirks, PJ trying to reach for the phone. 

“Hah I know you Dan, it was nice seeing you today. Did you want something?” Somehow he has this slick nature that doesn’t falter for a second, his honey voice dripping into Dan’s ear. 

“Yeah listen- I found your photo. I liked it so... I was wondering if you still wanted to take those pictures of me?” He slips on his words seeing as he’s still wrestling with the angry boy below him, who happens to be listening in. 

“You want to model for me?” He can hear the excitement bubbling in Phil’s throat as he talks, “I’d love that, when are you free?”

“I’m a student so I’m always free- ow!” PJ jabs him in the mouth with the heel of his wrist, the beads of fat in his lip crushing up against his bottom teeth like a grape. Dan can tell PJ has gasped apologetically because his hand is now wet with his breath. 

“Uh, cool. I’m pretty booked this week but can you do this Saturday?”

“Yes. I can.” Dan doesn’t have to think about it too hard, his face stretching into a smile albeit slightly swollen. 

“Cool, it’s a date.” And like that, Phil’s hung up. Dan releases his hand from PJ’s mouth, still sitting on top of him. 

“I swear I didn’t mean to do that.” PJ props himself up on his elbows, getting a closer look and Dan’s lip, “do you think it’ll bruise? I’m really sorry Dan.” It’s red around the perimeter, tinted yellow by Dan’s malnourished complexion. Behind the skin are tiny spider webs of blood that’s escaped from where it’s meant to be. 

“If it’s not healed by Saturday, I’ll give you one you match.”


End file.
